


a change of course

by shenylle



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, grown-ass men trying their best to talk about their feelings is my favorite kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 06:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21050063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shenylle/pseuds/shenylle
Summary: Instead of dwelling on a closed door, look for a cracked window.ORKurt is in love with De Sardet. De Sardet is in love with Siora. Vasco is in love with Kurt. Kurt and Vasco fix the issue by talking about their feelings and having sex.





	a change of course

a change of course

It may have been different if De Sardet had not met Siora, if she had not looked into her eyes and veered onto a new path mere minutes after setting foot upon Teer Fradee. If De Sardet’s new path of easily spent goodness and care hadn’t sparked – sudden and unwelcome – within Kurt’s chest pangs of deep unnerving longing. If De Sardet had perhaps caught a glimpse of those prolonged looks while trailing happily after Siora.

It may even have been different if De Sardet’s blindness to the matter had been enough to make Kurt turn on her. As if he ever could have turned on her.

And Kurt does think about the what ifs increasingly often: after the coup, after the camp, after the kiss he walks in on De Sardet and Siora as they share. He is somewhat certain that it does not show upon his face, holding his guard, his regard, and his distance the best that he can. Petrus watches De Sardet even more closely than Kurt himself does, it sometimes seems, and the old preacher has never confronted him.

All this to explain why Kurt finds himself entirely caught off guard the night that Vasco says to him, “So, the Legate, huh?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kurt answers too fast.

“Oh, I think I do actually,” Vasco replies, not making eye contact. He runs a finger through the condensation on his mug of ale.

Kurt feels that pang again, that now somewhat comforting ache that is at its worst whenever De Sardet enters and leaves his line of sight. Vasco hasn’t been a friend exactly, these past months, but he hasn’t been the anticipated thorny complication either. Kurt has no skills in these matters – self-taught or otherwise – and so he sighs and looks around the half-empty Coin Tavern, in search of a change in topic.

“It’s all right,” Vasco says at last, finishing his drink. “We sail onwards.”

***

The next time they are camping near Vigyigidaw. It is Vasco’s turn to keep watch, but Kurt hasn’t yet made it to his tent. His legs had grown too weak after he had watched De Sardet slip into Siora’s.

Vasco allows the silence to stretch on; it’s uncharacteristic. Kurt uses every second of the silence to compose his resolve enough to say, “How is one meant to know what to do with these feelings?”

“Well, to start with, most people have a wider social circle than just De Sardet and her cousin,” Vasco replies after a breath. “It’s easier when there are others to know.”

“I know you,” Kurt interjects. It’s a little defensive.

“Do you?” Vasco asks, raising his eyebrows and the ink lines across his forehead. His features are sharp in the firelight, but his tone is softer than his words.

“Well enough,” Kurt answers. It’s a little more defensive. “How does knowing people help?” he prods, after a moment.

Kurt looks over to Vasco, searching for the answer and his eyes now, but the other is breathing slowly, face contemplative. His gaze is on the flames. Eventually, Vasco draws a deep breath, flicks his tongue out to wet his lips, and says, “Because instead of dwelling on a closed door, you have a chance to look for a cracked window.”

Kurt smiles to himself, a touch bemused. “And how many cracked windows have you slipped through, Captain?”

Vasco laughs heartily at that, breaking apart the tension. “My fair share,” he admits with his last chuckle.

The night lapses into silence once again, more companionable than before. Kurt feels the soft cloth of Vasco’s tunic brush against his forearm and he glances quickly over, unsure when the other had moved closer.

“I’m not sure if I could climb through any windows in my armor,” Kurt speculates after a while. “But I do know better than to go knocking on closed doors.”

At the very same time as he begins to form the words, “Good night, Vasco,” upon his lips, Vasco’s warm hand settles lightly on his nearest thigh. Kurt freezes in place at the unexpected touch.

“I wish I had that sense,” Vasco says with hesitation. He turns to look at Kurt, the soft palette of his eyes masked by the reflection of the fire, bright and heated.

Kurt finds himself almost surprised at his own lack of confusion. Vasco’s request is quite clear. For that first moment, Kurt forgets who he is. For the second, Kurt remembers, but wishes – as he often does – that he did not.

Vasco’s hand withdraws and the fire in his eyes fades out as he turns his face away. It isn’t desire or desperation that drives Kurt onwards then. And when he looks back: What if he hadn’t been curious? What if Vasco hadn’t cracked open the window?

Kurt reaches out and catches Vasco’s chin in the palm of his hand. He traces the rough pad of his thumb over an ink line on the jaw, giving himself time to rethink, and then he pulls Vasco closer, pressing their lips together.

At first brush, it isn’t altogether different. Vasco’s lips are soft and part gently beneath his own. But the quiet hum of relief is deep, masculine, and upsetting. Kurt pulls back. The ache returns.

Vasco reaches up and gently lifts Kurt’s hand off of his chin. “I’m not De Sardet,” he says, his tone a mix of certainty and sadness.

“Good night, Vasco,” says Kurt, closing the conversation in fear of making another blunder. The pangs in his chest are stifling and sudden and without direction. He stands and stumbles away from the firelight, the campsite, and into an ocean of darkness.

***

The third time, Kurt is man enough to admit, Vasco entices him with a bottle of rich red wine.

They are back in New Serene and Vasco shows off his prize to De Sardet’s loyal devotees, having emerged triumphant following a game of dice down by the docks. A few wistful comments from the gathered collection encourage sharing, but Kurt keeps his mouth shut and begins to walk away. Quick footsteps follow him down the hall of the Legate’s plush apartments. “Kurt, join me for a drink tonight?” Vasco whispers, conspiratorially.

So Kurt finds himself two tall glasses in and lamps burning low, in the solitude of Vasco’s chambers. If . . . If he had said, “No, thank you,” or even, “Not tonight.” It may have been different.

Kurt knows his face to already be flushed, so perhaps any added pink goes unnoticed when Vasco sets his cup on the bedside. The remnants of wine slosh. Vasco clears his throat. “I shouldn’t have made a pass at you, back near Vigyigidaw, knowing your history with Hermann. I’m sorry, Kurt.”

There is a moment of silence while Kurt reflects on his words. After a pause, he nods slowly, places his own glass on the desk near to him, and carefully stands, shaking the languidness out of his muscles. Vasco frowns, noticeably, before he drops his head to hide it. In three quick strides, Kurt is able to cross the floor of the small room, from the wooden chair in which he had sat to the edge of the bedframe against which Vasco is leaning. One, two, three, and he hooks his hands into the folds of Vasco’s tunic, lifting him to a matching height, and crashing his mouth into the other’s, strong and resolute.

Vasco’s hands curl up, coming to rest upon Kurt’s and holding tight as his body bends and softens. His lips part and, barreling forward, Kurt plunges his tongue in, swiping across teeth and tasting the heavy wine. Vasco sighs. It starts contented, but ends with Vasco pulling away from him.

“Kurt, are you certain?” Vasco asks. His golden eyes narrow.

Kurt flinches. “No,” he says, and tries to kiss Vasco again instead of speaking. Vasco is quick to dart his head away. “Vasco, hells, I’m not sure I have it in me.”

“Have you had . . . any other experiences with a man?” Vasco asks, selecting his words with care.

“No,” says Kurt roughly. His hands are still twisted between Vasco’s warm chest and the other’s nimble fingers. Neither makes any movement to begin to detangle. Kurt considers. “You don’t have to tell me you aren’t De Sardet. You don’t have to tell me you aren’t . . . him, either.”

“I can live with this not happening,” Vasco explains, his voice tender. “I can’t live with the regret.”

Kurt takes his time in replying, wanting Vasco to know that in this, at least, he is able to be thoughtful. “Do you trust me?” he asks at last. “I’ve saved your life in battle; you’ve saved mine. We need to trust each other out there. So, can you trust me now?”

“Of course I do,” Vasco replies.

“Good.” Kurt harrumphs. “I ain’t no blushing school girl, Sailor, being tricked into dropping her drawers. Trust me to know my own mind when it comes to this, Vasco. Give me that power.”

The mood shifts, instantaneous and electric. Vasco’s tongue slips out, wetting his lips. “What’s on your mind, then, Captain?”

That . . . well, that stumps him admittedly. “I know what I don’t want,” he says awkwardly, nodding to absolutely nothing and sure that he is leaving Vasco in the lurch. “But there are . . . other things . . . of interest, I think.”

Vasco smiles, sly and coveting. “You’ve given me so much to work with here, Captain,” he teases, turning Kurt’s hands over into his and shifting the two of them until they have switched places. “Have a seat, Kurt,” he instructs, both gentle and suggestive.

Kurt plops upon the edge of the mattress. His armor already stripped for down time, he notices immediately the easy way their knees knock together as Vasco stands between his legs, looking down at him, and remembers back to the campsite where that burden had only added complications in their positioning. Kurt is not a blushing school girl, and yet it takes the fog in his mind several seconds to clear as he watches Vasco lower himself to the ground before him. He wonders, then he realizes, and then he startles himself with concern, reaching out to clasp Vasco on the shoulder.

“Look, it’s been a while,” Kurt begins to say as Vasco settles into place between his knees.

“Haven’t made time for a suck since arriving in Teer Fradee?” Vasco teases with a soft grin, palms landing warm and heavy on Kurt’s upper thighs.

“What I mean is,” Kurt replies, a bit gruff and reticent, “don’t judge.” He nods curtly towards his nethers, as Vasco’s fingers begin to skim across the laces.

“Going to blow your load on me, Soldier?” Vasco asks, voice suddenly dropping deep and low. An unexpected groan tears from the base of Kurt’s throat and he lies convincingly to himself that it’s because of the insistent pressure of the hands now pawing at his breeches, a welcome change from his own.

“Hells, Vasco,” Kurt grunts, eyes falling closed. Fingers circle around him and, without preparation or hesitation, Vasco takes him into his mouth, a little at first, getting him wet, then quickly and steadily deeper. Kurt balls his hands into fists amid the bedsheets, overcome with sensation. Vasco bobs his head with no mercy; if Kurt could spare a glance, the lips around his dick must be smugly curled.

Vasco’s hand travels up Kurt’s thigh, over his hip, and strokes lightly at his belly. The sharp contrast in the soft touch to the raucous assault down below encourages Kurt to peak down, a sudden hiss of air whistling through his teeth as he inhales in surprise at the sight. It is gorgeous; Vasco, serene and self-assured, eyes half-lidded as he moves with skill, tongue working Kurt’s length. Shyly, Kurt lifts a hand from the mattress and traces the tips of his fingers over the smooth skin of Vasco’s hand resting on his stomach. Vasco startles, momentarily, flicking his gaze upwards and pausing to let a small smile grow upon the lips still stretched, filled with Kurt’s cock. It passes quickly and he ducks his head back down to continue his work.

Emboldened, Kurt gently lowers both hands to Vasco’s head, fingers playing with the fine straight hair. He grips, hands guiding but delicate, and lifts Vasco off of him, a quiet wet pop as the other releases, promptly swiping a pink tongue out to lick spittle and precum from his lips.

“All right, Kurt?” Vasco asks, shaking his knees and calves out as he stands. Kurt doesn’t respond, eyes drawn to the bulge tenting Vasco’s breeches, and for the first time, his chest tightens uncomfortably and his mouth feels full of cotton.

“We can continue as we were,” Vasco nudges, voice subdued, as he catches Kurt’s hesitation. “Preferably on the bed – these months on land have not been kind to my knees,” he says with a laugh, before growing serious again. “Or we can stop.”

“No,” Kurt says, reaching upwards from his sitting position, hands moving straight for the waistband of Vasco’s breeches. He begins tugging them down, hastily, and Vasco shimmies to help him in the task, shedding his tunic in the process.

Kurt swallows hard at the sight of Vasco before him, long and lean lines overrun with trails of ink. He has seen him unclothed before, bathing nude in creeks near the camps, but this time his prick rises, slender but substantial, from the light curls at his groin. Kurt wraps a hand around it, tentative, and is rewarded with a restrained and delicate moan from Vasco, whose arms hang loosely, in waiting, at his sides. The rise and fall of Vasco’s chest quickens the longer Kurt touches, unsure what pleases, but focused on exploring. A soft huff of disappointment, quickly clamped into silence, drops from Vasco’s lips when Kurt’s fingers withdraw. Kurt hurriedly looks up, surprised to see that Vasco had closed his eyes, relaxing into the touch. The other waits, the lamplight turning his eyes nearly amber.

“I’d like . . .” Kurt starts, finding his mouth dry now for a different reason. “Could I . . . May I have you?” he asks in a rough whisper. This prompts a deep shudder down the length of Vasco’s body; Kurt hopes that it is desire.

“I’d like that,” Vasco says, pausing before offering, “I can show you?”

Kurt shakes his head, miniscule, eyes dropping. “I know the jist of it. I’ve shared barracks with many men for many years, remember?” Vasco chuckles lightly during the pause, before Kurt continues. “I’m not sure that I’m . . . that I’m ready to prepare you, but I’d like to watch, if that’s all right?”

Vasco nods and, instead of turning away to the nightstand, leans down slightly, closer to Kurt. Sensing his intentions, Kurt raises his hands and cups Vasco’s chin, feeling the stubble prickle under his palm. He closes the distance and kisses Vasco, only remembering after the fact where Vasco had been, but it isn’t as off-putting as he expects, especially when Vasco’s mouth moves passionately over his own, drawing him out of his thoughts and into the kiss, fully and completely. He cannot stop the sigh that leaves his lips, ghosting over Vasco’s as he pulls back.

Vasco turns now to retrieve the oil. Kurt stands, bed creaking as he moves from it, and shucks his clothing, tripping as he tugs off a boot. He pauses, staring at the crumpled piles on the floor, then with a frown scoops them up, hurriedly folding them into two untidy stacks on the desk across the room. When he looks back, Vasco has nestled into the covers, knees drawn up, ankles angled out, and ass exposed. His fingers, slicked with oil, trace lightly over his cock, before descending to his hole and dipping inside. Kurt nearly faints.

Mesmerized, he watches Vasco fuck himself upon his fingers, bared and confident, but reigning in his trademark arrogant smirk. Unexpectedly, Kurt realizes his prick is burning, heavy and hot, and his own hand traces it lightly, absentmindedly, as he watches Vasco display himself without shame. He did not expect it to feel quite as good as this, when he had – in rare moments – let his mind drift away with thoughts of their encounter. He wants Vasco; there is a hunger taking root deep within his bones. Vasco’s steady movement falters when he catches sight of Kurt’s starved gaze. The way his mouth parts as he gasps in surprise draws Kurt in and, once again, Kurt finds himself crossing the room to sweep Vasco into a kiss.

Kurt ends up draped over Vasco’s spread legs, chest falling heavy onto the other’s, and one hand tangled into his hair. “No more smart comments, Sailor?” Kurt taunts, breath hot over Vasco’s lips.

“If you’d like,” Vasco teases with a slight grin, easy merriment returning to his eyes. “But I’d much prefer if you would fuck me into the mattress, Kurt.”

Kurt feels a slick hand wrap around his member and guide him forwards. Vasco is tight and molten hot around him as he pushes inch by inch inside. Vasco’s head drops backward onto the pillows and, without a thought, Kurt’s teeth descend, roughing the skin exposed to him as he buries himself deeper. It has been . . . so very long . . . and Kurt’s body quakes as he fights the urge to draw back and plunge forward, again and again.

“Are you well?” Kurt whispers, lips and tongue soothing the bruising on Vasco’s throat away.

“Mm-hmm,” Vasco breathes out, shifting his hips to encourage Kurt deeper. “On you go.”

Kurt closes his eyes, control ebbing, as he pulls out and snaps forward, hearing Vasco moan beneath him. He fucks him deeply, with less care than he should, but Vasco’s body moves eagerly in sync with his own and holds him firmly throughout. He can feel Vasco’s cock, caught between their bodies, sliding messily against his stomach. Kurt tries to lift himself enough to sneak a hand in, but Vasco murmurs, “No, just keep going,” eyes bright and lips shining, so instead he drops the hand to the other’s hip and pins him down to the mattress, allowing him to pick up speed.

There is no hope for anything drawn out. Kurt grunts into the shell of Vasco’s ear and comes, whiteness overtaking his senses, as he rides out the last of the wave. He drops his body to the right of Vasco, who shifts towards him, finding Kurt’s languid mouth and filling it with frantic kisses. Kurt traces his hand from Vasco’s hip to the still erect and leaking cock, which Vasco pumps desperately into his own fist. Kurt covers Vasco’s hand with his own and, with a small number of firm and final touches, brings Vasco over the edge, fluids painting both of them as they sag together into the mattress.

Time passes. At first, their stillness has an obvious cause, as they rest and recover, but as the hour grows later, Kurt becomes aware of Vasco’s cooling body, shrinking away from him on the bed. Kurt waits, knowing that if he stands, he stands to leave, and unfairly hopes that Vasco will make the first move forward. After long enough, Vasco sighs nearly inaudibly and says, “There’s a cloth and water basin on my cabinet. Hold on a moment and I’ll fetch it for us.”

Vasco crosses the floor, spotting from the corner of his eye his own clothes folded somewhat neatly on the desk beside Kurt’s, and a warm smile passes over his face. Kurt watches him in the dim light of the room as he wets and cleans himself with the cloth, before submerging it and wringing it out again. He returns to Kurt, arm extended, and Kurt takes the cloth from his hand, turning his attention away at last.

Vasco is dressed, quick work of it, by the time he finishes, and so Kurt follows his lead, stepping into his trousers and yanking the linen shirt over his head. He stands awkwardly in the room, eyeing the near empty bottle of wine and the near frozen Captain of the Sea hovering in the centre of it.

“I hope this hasn’t –” Vasco begins to say, before Kurt rushes to interrupt him.

“Can I stay?” Kurt asks, words slurred from the rush. His heart pounds relentlessly, beating filling his ears, louder than ever before.

Vasco’s body relaxes, shoulders dropping as the tension leaks away. “Please do, Kurt,” he says, raising a hand to invite him back to the bed.


End file.
